


My Baby Wrote me a Letter

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Getting Together, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys in Bucky's unit are convinced their Sarge has a girl back home, despite him refusing to talk about her. Who else would write him all those letters?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Baby Wrote me a Letter

Steve's not proud of it, but he doesn't pay much attention to the rest of the men until they're back at camp. He organises them, of course, but the march back is really one long road of feeling Bucky's eyes on the back of his neck. He wishes he could sling him over one shoulder – he could do that now, and Bucky's in no shape for a days-long march – but he remembers the burning humiliation of being the one who needed help, and leaves it be. He doesn't mention it when Bucky's rifle slips from regulation to rest on Steve's shoulder, barrel heavy in Bucky's hands.

So, yes. Its only when they're back at camp that the mass of 'soldiers' begins to dis-homogenate into actual people.

“So what was the Sarge like at home?”

Steve spends most of his time with Bucky, but every now and then Bucky will chuck him out of the tent with a growl and Steve finds himself immediately surrounded by Bucky's command unit.

“He always had my back,” Steve replies, automatically. He's not sure of the name of the soldier questioning him, but he recognises the face.

“But what was he really like? I bet he was a hit with the ladies.” It's a different soldier, one who had stuck close to Bucky's other side during the walk back. Steve thinks this might be Dugan; Bucky had mentioned they were in the same unit.

“All the time,” Steve says, “More luck than me. He took them dancing.”

“I knew it!” crows another solider, elbowing the man next to him. “Didn't I say?”

“He's got someone special though,” adds the man. Steve looks at him blankly. He's got short dark hair and a matching moustache. “Like, a girlfriend,” clarifies the man, but it doesn’t really help much. Steve doesn't remember any girl Bucky took out wining and dining more than once or twice – _“can't let them get attached, Stevie.”_

He'd like to head back to the tent, but he only just left and they're looking at him expectantly. He can't even skulk off to talk to Stark or Colonel Phillips because they're blocking his path. “Not that I know of,” he says cautiously, trying to edge his way through. Maybe Bucky had just never told him, out of some sort of pity.

The soldier who is possibly Dugan shakes his head. “He had someone. No one gets letters like that except from a sweetheart.”

“Letters?”

“Damn near every day.” Steve gets a pit in his stomach. “Little drawings sometimes too – of home, I guess. They were cityscapes usually.”

The pit deepens. “He has a mother, couple of sisters-”

“Nah, no one needs a moment of privacy for letters from their mom-”

“Come to think of it, I thought there's be a stack of them here waiting for him-”

He finds a gap in the sea of faces and squeezes through. “Sorry, I really do need to speak to Colonel Phillips-” and they let him go, because he's Captain America, and why would Captain America lie?

Later that night, he slips quietly into the tent he's sharing with Bucky – at least until Bucky heals, when he'll have to go back to the rest of the men. Bucky's breathing is deep and even, but Steve can tell when he's asleep and now isn't it. He sits on his cot.

“Why didn't you tell me my letters were causing you trouble?”

“They weren't,” the answer is immediate. “I don't care if people think I've got a girl back home. They were the highlight of my day.”

Steve doesn't quite know what to say to that;. The letters had just been his way of pretending Bucky was still there. They were full of the inane chitchat he would have said out loud if he'd not been an ocean away. Nothing important at all. “I didn't even say anything interesting.”

“You talked of home. Like we were at home. And you sent me pictures of it. I had that drawing of our house on me when-” He stops himself, and he sounds tired.

“I missed you.” Bucky doesn't answer, but Steve can just see the outline of teeth in the dimness of the tent. “They're gonna think your girl gave up on you, you know. Can't understand why there wasn't a pile of letters waiting for your return.”

“Think I should tell 'em my girl got herself beefed up and headed on out here?”

“Notcha girl Buck.” It's a sentence he's uttered more than once, when Bucky has been teasing him about being small - “ _Betcha could stick on Becca's dress – a bit of make up – no one would know the difference Stevie!”_ He'd always hated it – hated the assumption that because he was small he was girly, but he let it go because he knew Bucky was never serious. Knew, for that matter, that anyone else who suggested anything of the kind would feel the sharp side of Bucky's temper (and Steve's fists, because he wasn't a girl, and didn't _need_ Bucky to fight his battles for him). But there'd always been a space, deep down, that wondered if it might have been easier that way. If he could have -

“Nah, not my girl.” It sounds serious, but it sounds different too. As if the emphasis has shifted.

“What am I then?” he questions, and this is the first time this conversation hasn't ended with a mock punch and a grin. It feels expectant.

“What do you wanna be?”

Bucky's still lying on his cot, curled on one side, and Steve's still sat on his facing him. And he can't say it, no matter how much or for how long he's felt it. So he stands instead. And somehow Bucky has always been able to read him just right; he shifts backwards, and Steve climbs under the blanket in front of him. The cot creaks under their combined weight, but holds. “This,” he breathes, after a moment of just sharing air.

Bucky nods, and its like its always been if Steve shifts down so his feet hang off the bed. He can curl his head under Bucky's chin, like every winter when the heat went out, and feel Bucky's arm settle over his back.

“My guy,” states Bucky, and there's no question in it but there is a hint of a smile.

“Yeah. Now go to sleep Buck.”


End file.
